Things Better Left Unsaid
by babydykecate
Summary: When their common ground came up, it wasn't in a discussion. Warning: rape fantasy, discussion of rape. I do not wish to offend anyone, please heed warnings. This is dark, written very much from the point of view of a survivor.


**Trigger Warning:** rape fantasy, discussion of rape  
><em>Please note:<em> I do not wish to offend anyone, please heed warnings. This is dark, written very much from the point of view of a survivor. There is smut, but this is no PWP.  
>Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. No profit made, no infringement intended.<p>

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><p>.<br>They weren't the kind of couple that talked much. They could sense each other's moods and boundaries, and it wasn't like they needed words anyway. They communicated just fine inside and outside the bedroom without a lot of talking. Mostly inside.

So it wasn't really like they'd avoided Buford, like Derek hadn't guessed about Elle. They just didn't talk about it.

It's only when they're watching a movie, and the lights are out. An attempted rape plays out on the screen, and they're at opposite ends of the couch. He finally acknowledges their common ground in the uncomfortable moment where their eyes can't meet.

"You were younger when it happened, right?" Derek asks.

Elle hesitates. "Yeah," she finally replies.

"You ever think something happening that young- in that crucial period when you should be coming to terms with your sexuality- do you think that changes you?" He asks, the almost academic question barely concealing his vulnerability.

"Maybe," Elle replies. After a moment she elaborates, "Maybe it changed me."

Derek waits for the explanation. Knows the best thing he can give Elle is silence. Elle doesn't talk much, but when she does, it's important.

"I read a book once- this account of victim's stories- and I got fucking turned on, Derek. Knowing something like that could- I just hated myself. I tried to reason that it was just acts that turned me on, not the context, but that felt like a cop out. Maybe what happened damaged me- made me feel like I should want it, like that was the only way I could. Other times I though maybe I was just as evil as him," Elle says into the darkness.

"Sometimes it turns me on too," is all Derek says.

"Tell me a story, but not a real one. Show me, and I won't let you go too far," Elle whispers.

"Okay," Derek murmurs.

Derek slides across the couch, roughly grabbing Elle and pinning her down.

"I have needs," he murmurs, unzipping his pants to reveal his hardness straining the fabric of his briefs.

Elle fights, but not like she was trained. Feeble twisting and scratching, a whispered "no" that rings true to neither of them.

"Shut up bitch," Derek growls, fumbling with her pants button and zipper in haste before yanking them down her legs. He rips off her underwear and thrusts in two fingers to feel her wetness. Elle's nails claw his back.

He pulls out his wet fingers, slipping them under his briefs to caress his hardened cock. He then slides his underwear down to reveal his bulging erection, pressing the hot skin against Elle's thighs as she squirms beneath him. His knee holds her down as he tears open a condom.

His hands grab her wrists as he positions himself over her, using his knees to spread her as he thrusts himself inside her. Elle gasps, and there's no way to tell if it's pain or pleasure. All Derek knows is that if she wanted, Elle could have him on the floor right now.

Derek pumps in and out, his hands gripping Elle's wrists so tightly that he worries about her circulation.

"You fucking bastard," Elle spits out, pushing him over the edge. He comes hard and fast, collapsing on top her.

"Fuck," he murmurs as he tries to catch his breath.

"Fuck," Elle agrees, her freed hands balled up on his back.

Once Derek has regained his normal breathing, pulls back to check on Elle, examining her face in the eery glow of the DVD screensaver. He finds himself confronted with something he's never seen before- her vulnerability.

He gently takes her into his arms without a word. She curls into his side, and he doesn't acknowledge the dampness of his shirt near her face. Then he'd be forced to admit that his own eyes are tearing slightly.

He knows they may never talk about it again, but he has faith that they communicate just fine.


End file.
